She was weak. Always crying over small things like undone homework; small squabbles with her siblings and such. But recently, her tears stopped. Everyday, she would take the MRT to Outram station and walk slowly to block four. Then she would register herself as a visitor at the automated registration machine before entering the gantry and go up to the eighth floor. She would then step slowly through the elevator doors and make her way to room 22. Upon reaching, she would head straight for bed 10. In that bed, lay a frail-looking woman. She was bald and so very thin. She was on drip and a few needles inserted into her right arm and a few bruises on her left. And she looked lifeless, like a candle that had burnt out. She tried to pull out a smile when she saw the girl but failed miserably for she did not have strength to control her facial expressions. The girl sat in the chair next to the bed and held the woman’s hand, trying to warm it up. Then she got some cream to help her massage her legs to ease the water retention in them. While doing this, the girl would talk about her school life. About her test results. About her friends. She also talked about the family, lying that she had a good relationship with her brother and sister. And all this while, the woman would be staring dazedly at the ceiling, tears forming and trying to escape from the corner of her eyes. After some time, the woman was transferred to a hospice and the girl still continued to visit her. But she was tired of living in so much pain and misery. She gathered all of her strength and tried to strangle herself to death till she was discovered and stopped by a nurse in time. When the girl came to visit, the woman was sedated and is always sleeping, with visible red marks on her neck. The girl did not cry. She just kept telling lies about her good relationship with her siblings though. She knew the woman could hear her. One week later, the woman was sent home for an early reunion dinner. The girl was there. Then, the woman passed away upon being laid back onto her bed in the room. Everyone else was crying. The girl did not cry. She was numb. She could not feel the pain. She could only feel an emptiness. A hole in the heart that threatened to tear her apart. The tears did not come. But, it seemed, everyone understood. Many stepped up to her asking, “Are you okay? Your mom’s death was most unfortunate. Live on well. We will support you.”
Tears found her at last. The wall she had spent so long building around her heart, putting on a brave front before her mother, had collapsed. The tears building up behind the dam broke the wall and flowed incessantly down her flushed cheeks. She tried desperately to wipe them away, stop them from flowing but to no avail. She lost her precious someone. The one who gave her the love she knew, the happiness she had and the anger she held.
Everyday, she would take the MRT to Outram station and walk slowly to block four. Then she would register herself as a visitor at the automated registration machine before entering the gantry and go up to the eighth floor. She would then step slowly through the elevator doors and make her way to room 22. Upon reaching, she would head straight for bed 10.
In that bed, lay a frail-looking woman. She was bald and so very thin. She was on drip and a few needles inserted into her right arm and a few bruises on her left. And she looked lifeless, like a candle that had burnt out. She tried to pull out a smile when she saw the girl but failed miserably for she did not have strength to control her facial expressions.
The girl sat in the chair next to the bed and held the woman’s hand, trying to warm it up. Then she got some cream to help her massage her legs to ease the water retention in them. While doing this, the girl would talk about her school life. About her test results. About her friends. She also talked about the family, lying that she had a good relationship with her brother and sister. And all this while, the woman would be staring dazedly at the ceiling, tears forming and trying to escape from the corner of her eyes.
After some time, the woman was transferred to a hospice and the girl still continued to visit her. But she was tired of living in so much pain and misery. She gathered all of her strength and tried to strangle herself to death till she was discovered and stopped by a nurse in time. When the girl came to visit, the woman was sedated and is always sleeping, with visible red marks on her neck.
The girl did not cry. She just kept telling lies about her good relationship with her siblings though. She knew the woman could hear her.
One week later, the woman was sent home for an early reunion dinner. The girl was there. Then, the woman passed away upon being laid back onto her bed in the room.
Everyone else was crying. The girl did not cry. She was numb. She could not feel the pain. She could only feel an emptiness. A hole in the heart that threatened to tear her apart. The tears did not come. But, it seemed, everyone understood. Many stepped up to her asking, “Are you okay? Your mom’s death was most unfortunate. Live on well. We will support you.”
Tears found her at last. The wall she had spent so long building around her heart, putting on a brave front before her mother, had collapsed. The tears building up behind the dam broke the wall and flowed incessantly down her flushed cheeks. She tried desperately to wipe them away, stop them from flowing but to no avail. She lost her precious someone. The one who gave her the love she knew, the happiness she had and the anger she held.